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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



gHEAP 0P P0EMS 



GE0RGE PERRY 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 



NEW YORK 

27 West Twenty-third St. 



LONDON 

24 Bedford St., Strand 




ftttithnbotker |)rtss 
1894 



TS 






Copyright, 1894 

BY 

ROLAND HINTON PERRV 



Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by 

Ube IRnfcfcerbocfcer ipress, Ittew JiJorfe 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 



This "Sheaf of Poems," the aftermath of a life 
devoted to large ideals, is dedicated to 

Mrs. Bloomfield Moore 

IN grateful recognition of her appreciation of my 

LATE HUSBAND, AND IN MEMORY OF HIS ADMIRATION OF HER 
PHILOSOPHIC BREADTH AND ELEVATION OF THOUGHT AND 
HER SELF-CONSECRATION TO THE HIGHER INTERESTS OF 
HUMANITY, BY 

IONE HINTON PERRY 



CONTENTS. 










J'AGE 

Introductory vii 


Euclid, Problem I 










i 


A Voice .... 
In the Castle of Luftwich 










7 
13 


Across the Desert . 










19 


EXULTEMUS . . 










27 


Haste, Angel . 










29 


Stay in the Rosy Skies 










3i 


The Sea's Prayer 










33 


A Promenade 










35 


Judgment Hymn 










4i 


The Phalanstery 










47 


A Summer Dream 










59 


The Shoon .... 










73 


Shadows of Romance 










79 


Uncreated Light 










83 


Alone 










85 


^Enone . . . . 










89 


The Sacrament of Love . 










93 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



Song of Kilcare Cottage . 

Sunbeam and Rose . . . 

When Do the Flowers Die 

First of the Yellow Leaves 

The Brave Old Banner 

" Liberty Enlightening the World " 

In the Valley of Shadows 

Siva, Destroyer .... 

Tributes to the Memory of George Perry 



PAGK 

99 
105 
107 
109 
in 

115 
119 
125 
131 



INTRODUCTORY. 

(From the "Home Journal" of Wednesday, 
November 21, 1888.) 

The Home Journal is confronted to-day with the 
sad duty of announcing to its readers the death of 
Mr. George Perry who, for many years, has presided 
over its literary departments. The effacement of his 
name from its familiar place under the title-heading 
of the Journal is a mournful necessity. And the 
pity of it is all the more because Mr. Perry seemed 
to be endowed with a bodily constitution that, 
though he had reached his sixty-first year, gave 
assurance of still a goodly number of years of effec- 
tive work either as editor or in that scholarly retire- 
ment to which he looked forward. 

The illness, ultimating in consumption, of which 
he died, was induced probably by exposure to the 
severe storm of last spring which he was obliged to 



vill INTRODUCTORY. 

face for a long distance in regaining his home after 
an ineffectual effort to reach the Home Journal 'office. 
The first effect of this exposure was an apparent ex- 
citation of health and spirits. But a few weeks later 
a low feverish condition set in attended with a cough 
which, not being ascribed to any deep-seated dis- 
order, was neglected. Mr. Perry, notwithstanding 
his gradually failing strength, and notwithstanding 
the solicitations of his friends and associates, per- 
sisted in his editorial work until, toward the end of 
June, he left, according to his custom, for a summer 
outing in the Berkshire Hills, expecting to renew 
there, as in former years, some measure of the vital 
energy expended in the work of the year. The 
sunlight and air and freedom of the Berkshires did 
not, however, have their usual effect upon him ; his 
strength steadily failed. Returning to the city a 
few weeks ago, he was making preparations to leave 
for a winter in the South, when death intervened. 
During this gradual decadence of his vital powers 
Mr. Perry always talked encouragingly, and in a 
quiet matter-of-fact way, of his recovery of health 
and vigor, as if apparently he felt it a duty to give 



INTROD UCTOR Y. IX 

nature " the benefit of a doubt," and not at least 
oppose her in any recuperative effort that she may 
have held in reserve. But it was evident that there 
was an undercurrent of feeling reflecting the shadow 
of approaching death, and that he did not turn away 
but was ready to accept this issue with philosophic 
calmness. 

That in the quiet of Berkshire Hills such at 
times was the secret tenor of his thoughts is shown 
by the following poem which he had pencilled on a 
stray bit of paper, and which was found among the 
papers at his bedside : 

SIVA, DESTROYER. 

Whose voice shall say him nay ? 
Whose arm shall bar his way ? 
Lord of unbounded sway ! — 
Siva, Destroyer. 

Proud kings, whose lightest breath 
To men is life or death, 
Heeds he your ruth or wrath ? — 
Siva, Destroyer. 



INTRODUCTORY. 

Mother with bleeding breast 
Bowed o'er thy birdling's nest, 
Shall thy last woe arrest 
Siva, Destroyer? 

Maiden with eyes of love 
Fixed on the heaven above, 
Hast thou a prayer to move 
Siva, Destroyer ? 

Youth of the lion heart, 
Brave for life's noblest art, 
Shall fame's fair glory thwart 
Siva, Destroyer ? 

Earth in thy sweet array, 
Bride of celestial day, 
Hast thou one bloom to stay 
Siva, Destroyer? 

Stars on the dome of night, 
Climbing to your far height 
Do ye escape his might ? — 
Siva, Destroyer. 

What voice shall say him nay, 
What arm shall bar his way, 
Lord of unbounded sway ! — 
Siva, Destroyer. 



INTRODUCTORY. XI 

These are noble verses, tuned to a majestic cadence, 
borne along upon a deep groundswell of feeling, 
noble and strong in their terse simplicity. But it 
would be an error to infer from their subject and 
tenor that Mr. Perry lacked faith in that All-Life, 
in the light of which the shadows of destruction 
are ever absorbed and lost. Mr. Perry was a be- 
liever in the Over-Soul and in the persistence of 
life ; for him death was not entitled to the name 
of a reality. And this his faith was not due to the 
force of early teaching, to derived associations of 
thought ; it was not that faith which was worn as 
an external habit of mind ; it was a part, and the 
most radical part, of his nature ; it had more the 
character of an insight than a faith. 

He was a man of the antique oriental type — to 
those who could understand and appreciate him a 
unique personality in this our latter-day world ; to 
him the shows of the world, the procession of 
events, were but the filmy clouds on the surface of 
life, a magnificent phantasmagoria for the entertain- 
ment of the soul. But this underlying thought did 
not prevent him, especially after he had hardened 



Xll IN TROD UCTOR Y. 

himself to the work of life, from taking a practical 
interest in the questions of the day so far as they 
affected the higher culture, nor from engrafting 
upon an instinctive conservatism the most progres- 
sive views, as the many articles from his pen during 
the twenty or more years of his editorship have 
borne testimony. And yet through all there ran 
the qualifying note of the orientalist — it is but a 
play in which I am taking part ; these shows and 
questionings are remote from the " me " which is 
my real life — albeit I must do my work, and speak 
my piece as an actor in the scene, obedient to the 
call-bell of the stage manager Time. 

Mr. Perry was born in Richmond, a township in 
western Berkshire, Mass., bordering on the New 
York State line. He came of an old New England 
stock which has given distinguished sons to the 
service of the republic. The family homestead in 
which he first saw the light was situated near the 
base of what is known as Perry's Peak, from which 
one of the grandest views in the Berkshire Hills is 
seen. He who now writes this tribute to the mem- 
ory of his friend recalls as one of his most cherished 



IN TROD UCTOR Y. Xlll 

remembrances a brief visit at his friend's home, 
when he was guided by him through winding ways 
to this mountain-top. It was at the period of early 
manhood, when life itself was an ascent to be 
climbed, and every upward step revealed an enlarged 
horizon and gave an intenser exhilaration. Surely 
no grander entertainment could a man offer his 
friend than this, and in such an ascent where could 
one find a more fit companion than him we mourn 
to-day ? He was by nature native to the mountain 
tops, a soul that satisfied itself only with the largest 
compass of view, the completest sweep of sky, and 
the sun's fullest flood of light. 

Mr. Perry was graduated at Williams College at 
a time when the wave of New England transcen- 
dentalism was still at its height. The Brook Farm 
venture had indeed collapsed, but youthful disciples 
of the new school still dreamed their dream of an 
ideal social life. Soon after his college days Mr. 
Perry joined the " North American Phalanx," a 
community established in Monmouth County, New 
Jersey, where it held a domain of some seven 
hundred acres ; made up in part of representatives 



XIV IN TROD UCTOR Y. 

of the idealism of Brook Farm, but in much greater 
part of practical-minded people, with a considerable 
infusion of that class which is neither idealistic nor 
practical, but has crochets and angles of belief and 
character which make it difficult for them to find a 
comfortable place for themselves in the world at 
large. The Phalanx for a few years grew in strength 
and flourished, but finally after a protracted strug- 
gle, long after the spirit that had inspired its for- 
mation had died out, went the way of all similar 
communities that are not held together by some 
religious bond, thereby giving testimony to the 
truth that society, whether on a small or a large 
scale, can only be sustained by some principle or 
faith higher than self-interest. 

x\mid this community in its earliest and best days 
Mr. Perry spent two or three years of his life, 
dividing his time between the labors of the farm or 
garden and the prosecution of his favorite studies, 
reading the poets and philosophers and dreaming 
out for himself some solution of the great world- 
problem. On leaving the Phalanx, after a few 
months spent at his Berkshire home, Mr. Perry 



INTROD UCTOR Y. XV 

came to New York to try his fortunes in literature ; 
he came, as other young men have come before, 
with a manuscript roll of poems in his hand, seeking 
a publisher. He did not succeed in this, but grad- 
ually adapting himself to the kind of literary work 
in demand — though not without a strong effort of 
will and under the pressure of necessity, for his 
nature was inherently idealistic and his mind busied 
itself with themes remote from the common interest 
— he succeeded in pushing his way in the literary 
field. His essays were received with special favor 
by the late Mr. Willis, and gained for him the post 
of assistant editor of the Home Journal, and on 
the death of Mr. Willis he succeeded to the literary 
editorship of the paper and eventually acquired a 
part ownership in it. That is now some twenty odd 
years ago. 

We have little left to say. The ability, force and 
elevation of his mind have made themselves felt in 
leading articles on literary and social topics and 
in various departments of criticism. Though well 
known in literary circles and highly esteemed, he 
lived a somewhat recluse life, the life of the scholar 



XVI INTRODUCTORY. 

and thinker. There is one group of literary people 
who will especially feel his loss, the later choir of 
poets. Of those who in recent years have acquired 
distinction in the poetical field not a few owe to 
Mr. Perry not only their introduction to the public 
but valuable critical help and counsel. Mr. Perry 
was himself a born poet of subtle and profound 
imagination, if not of varied range and versatile 
facility, and those who knew him best will always 
regret that the hard conditions of life did not leave 
him free scope for the exercise of his genius in the 
direction marked out by his nature. 

Our friend and associate's death — so we call it in 
our human parlance — occurred on Thursday, No- 
vember 15th. On the following Saturday the mortal 
form by which he was recognizable to our human 
sense was committed to earth in the burial ground 
of his fathers in Canaan Cemetery, N. Y., a few 
miles from the Berkshire home of his youth. 

And so for him have passed the world and its 
shows. 

H. H. 



A SHEAF OF POEMS. 



EUCLID, PROBLEM I. 

Unto those who rightly seek 
What the wise and subtle Greek 
In his symbols has concealed, 
Is the lore of gods revealed : 

Centred on the line's extremes, 

Twain embracing circles draw, 
Unto which this line shall be, 

Bond and limitary law. 
From their hearts two rays unite, 

Where the curves each other meet 
They are peers in birth and state, 

They the perfect Trine complete. 



EUCLID, PROBLEM I. 

Thus are we but empty lines, 
Light nor beauty has our life — 

Shallow, narrow, stretching on, 
Long its futile toil and strife — 

Till around our hearts are drawn 

Circles of the love of man, 
In whose arches we may find, 

Life's true measurement and span ; 

In whose arches we may see, 

Beauteous forms that ever shine, 

Forms that can from chaos lead 
Up to symmetry divine ; 

'Neath whose arches we may build 
Our life's pathway straight and wide, 

Whereon struggling man shall find 
Heavenly furtherance and guide ; 

By whose arches we may rear, 

Thought and deed in noble trines, 

Which forever shall endure, 
Fortresses to man, and shrines. 



EUCLID, PROBLEM I. 

Let the shining bands enlarge ! 

Ever widening, till we find, 
In their clear, unselfish light, 

Godlike worth in all mankind. 



A VOICE. 

Mortal ! heaven's towers 
Frowning o'er thy pathway stand,- 

Up the terror-guarded ramparts ! 

Like the dauntless Morn ascend ! 

Hear thy godlike spirit ! 

Raze the walls of blinding Awe ! 
Be thou all thy soul can image ! 
Pass the Ban, and Curse, and Thrall ! 

Tempt yon airy regions ! 

Yonder fathomless Profound 
Will become to thee as steadfast 
As this narrow sky-girt land. 

No Abyss infernal 

Can detain thy venturing feet, — 
Ne'er to him that seeks the Truthful, 
Shuts the unrelenting Gate. 



A VOICE. 

Crags, nor gnawing Vultures, 
Chains nor loneliness can cower, 

If thy soul but see the glory 

Of the realms it may rule o'er. 

Guides, but never Masters, 
Thee can bring to starry spheres — 
Never crouching slaves can enter 
Realms to which the Soul aspires. 

In thy own free Spirit 
Find thy holy, only rule ! — 
Earth and heavens are barred and bolted 
To the soul that bows in thrall. 

Unto lowest nature, 
Thou art now a very god — 
Past the highest thrones supernal, 
Leads thy upward, endless road. 

In those loftier heavens, 

Thy poor Pride and Self-regard 

Shall all die, — Love's voices only 

In those harmonies are heard. 



A VOICE. 

Up ! thy mortal brother 
Bearing on thy dauntless heart, 
Till his weak, unsteady footsteps 
Touch the Eternal Fields of Light. 

Down thy conquering pathway, 
Through the razed and rifted walls, 
Heaven's crystal floods outpouring 
Shall redeem Earth's deepest hells. 

Hear thy godlike Spirit ! 

Rise ! and know thy boundless might, 
Up ! thou conqueror, creator ! 
Take thy rightful Throne and State ! 



IN THE CASTLE OF LUFTWICH. 

Unbar the castle gate, 
Let now the bugle sound, 

A thousand swordsmen wait, 

Their chargers spurn the ground. 

The booming peals that roll 
From yonder flashing plain 

Awake the dreaming soul 
To fullest life again. 

The Soul has now its birth ! 

I feel its boundless might 
Cope with the deep-set Earth, 

And touch the spheres of light ! 

I scale the heights of life, 
Beyond the clouds of fear ! 

I 'm freed in noble strife ! — 
Freedom is only here ! 
13 



IN THE CASTLE OF LUFTWICH. I 5 

Long by the stream of thought 

Vainly the Soul has stood — 
Within its depths has sought 

The Beautiful, the Good ; 

Till the mock'd soul, with taunts, 
Cursed heaven, in wrath and pain, 

Sent with so godlike wants 
Upon Earth's poor domain. 

But heaven no more I wait, 
Heaven's might is in my heart ! 

Of all-decreeing Fate, 
I am myself a part ! 

And worlds I sought in vain, 

Shall rise beneath my hand ! 
Deeds ! deeds ! Fate's iron reign 

Bends at their stern command ! 

I hear, O man, thy march, 

Struggling with countless foes, 

Move up the shining arch, 

With strong and earnest blows. 



IN THE CASTLE OF LUFTWICH. ly 

And heaven's gates shall fall 

Before thy storming hand, 
And on its crystal wall 

Thy steadfast feet will stand. 



ACROSS THE DESERT. 

Long ago we started, 
Pilgrims o'er the sand, 

Dauntless, Titan-hearted, 
To seek the Aidenn land. 

Many days the marches 
Sped like dreams away ; 

'Neath the mirage arches 
The desert blooming lay. 

Ever when the sunbeams 
Shot the fiercest down, 

O'er the fiery sandbeams 
The mirage brightest shone. 

Countless were the treasures 
Stored with tireless hand, 

Stored for glories, pleasures, 
To grace the Aidenn land. 
19 



ACROSS THE DESERT. 21 

Many days the marches 

Sped like dreams away ; 
'Neath the mirage arches 

The desert blooming lay. 

Years — but still no Aidenn 

O'er the horizon rose ; 
Pilgrims, sorrow-laden, 

Lay down in death's repose. 

Marches ceased. The vision 

Like the day-star fell ; 
Naught that land Elysian, 

But Hope's illuding spell. 

On our sad breasts sinking 

Bowed our heads in shame, 
Of that glory thinking, 

That baseless towering dream. 

And we stood — all laden 

With life's noble spoil — 
Cheer for that high Aidenn, 

But not for desert toil. 



ACROSS THE DESERT. 23 

Mute and sternly beating, 

Mused our hearts beside 
Rivers deep and fleeting, 

That sought the ocean tide ; 

Gentle blossoms pressing 

Summer's fiery path 
Onward to the blessing 

That waiting Autumn hath ; 

Winds, with rapid pinions, 

Ever sweeping on 
Toward the bright dominions 

Where reigns the golden sun ; 

Saw the blessed of nature 

Robed in beauty shine ; — 
Germs of stunted stature 

In deserts strive and pine. 

Long the fallen arches 

Of that Titan dream 
Threw, o'er hurrying marches, 

Their bright, bewildering gleam. 



ACROSS THE DESERT. 25 

But no more the marches 

Sped like dreams away, 
And the mirage arches 

Made not the desert gay. 

Now a larger heaven 

Bends above us here, 
From our eyes are driven 

The mists of faith and fear. 

See we all things clearly, 

Hoping, fearing none, 
Living, acting, cheerly, 

As lives the mighty Sun. 

Here is youth eternal, 

Time and self are naught, 
Life for ever vernal 

In the great world-plan wrought. 

Night and twilight hoary 

Faith and Hope may cheer, 
Till they die the glory 

Of Noon shall not appear. 



EXULTEMUS. 

Bacchus, hail ! we drink to thee, 

Jocund god of generous pleasure ! 
Earth forget and heaven see, 

Drinking from thy purple treasure. 
By the midnight torches' glare, 
Over mountains steep and hoar, 
O'er the leafy, sounding shore, 
Crowned with ivy, thee we bear. 

Bacchus, hail ! we drink to thee ! 

Wreathe the goblet's flashing brim, 
Mirth with myrtle crowned and Glee ! 
Wildly chant the midnight hymn S 
By the midnight torches' glare, 
Over mountains steep and hoar, 
O'er the leafy, sounding shore, 
Crowned with ivy, thee we bear. 

Bacchus, hail ! we drink to thee ! 
Shouting till the hills about, 
Hills and heavens return the shout, 

Evoe, Bacche, triumphe ! 

27 



HASTE, O ANGEL. 

What dark demon hast thou cherished, 

O sad Soul, in thy endeavor 

To transcend the deeps that sever 
Angels from the lost and perished ? 

What dark spirit of the night 

Like a vulture tracks thy flight ; 

Thou by youthful visions bidden 
To explore the darksome way, 

Over seas in shadows hidden, 

Over continents forbidden, 
To the bounds of Endless Day ? 

Back, thou fiend, to endless night ! 

Haste, O Angel, haste your flight ! 
Fold your perfume-laden pinions 

O'er my weary, aching sight ! 

Guide my steps from out this night, 
Set me with the humblest minions 
In your holy pure dominions. 
Guide me ! only thus can mortals, 

Sore beset and sorrow-laden, 
Ever pass the blessed portals, 

Ever taste the bliss of Aidenn. 
29 



STAY IN THE ROSY SKIES. 

Stay in the rosy skies, 

Storm-troubled clouds ! 

Your pitchy folds are shrouds, 
And wrap the sweet and closed eyes. 

O winds of parted Springs, 
Your desolate wings 
Flap through the hollow night 
And bear life's slain delight. 

Sweep o'er the sunny vale, 

Mad surging flood, 
Below your war and wail 

Lie slain the beautiful and good. 



3i 



THE SEA'S PRAYER. 

O boundless, star-eyed Peace ! 

Fulfil my wild desire, 
And bid my spirit cease 

To struggle and aspire ! 

Yearning I stretch my hands, 
They clasp but lifeless sands ; 
Starward my steps I bear, 
They tread but empty air. 

Ever the lifeless sands, 

Ever the empty air, 
Ever the yearning hands, 

The struggle and despair. 



33 



A PROMENADE.. 

In midwinter I was stalking 
Down a proud and regal street, 

Where palatial grandeur only, 
Caught the echoes of my feet. 

O'er me came the scene's enchantment- 
Winter's frost I felt no more ; 

Crimson day from silken curtains 
Bathed the velvet-tufted floor. 

In the soft, luxurious shimmer 
Languished rare exotic blooms, 

And the streams of tropic carols 
Rippled through the thick perfumes. 

Precious ore, and stone, and crystal, 
Wool and silk of richest dyes, 

Burned along the walls of marble, 
Proudly towering in the skies. 

35 



A PROMENADE. 37 

Art's divine prophetic pencil 

There surpassed the primal birth, 

Wrought the grand Promethean visions 
That shall clothe the future earth. 



What this wretched throng that passes ! 

Man in ruins can it be ? 
God in Heaven ! what impious mortals ' 

Here have outraged Man and Thee ! 

O ye children of the Father ! 

Whence have come your wreck and spoil ? 
Plundered, famished, blinded, buried 

In the sepulchre of toil ! 

O down-trodden, chilled, embruted ! 

Where is youth's auroral flight ? 
Where affection's dewy fragrance ? 

Where the grace of manhood's might ? 



A PROMENADE. 39 

Where, poor wretches, is the fruitage 
That from earth your toil has won ? 

Marble homes your toil has builded — 
Lustrous robes your toil has spun ! 

Fires of Heaven ! can naught more gentle 
Than your burning, blasting tide, 

Sweep from earth this mad oppression — 
Crush this damning fratricide ! 

No ; O Mercy, thou — thou only, 
From thy high celestial home — 

Thou alone wilt bid these fallen 
Unto life's rich banquet come. 



JUDGMENT HYMN. 

Day of Love ! that day of glory 
Shall redeem this chaos hoary ; 
Age to age repeats the story. 

Oh, what joy and exultation 
When Love brings the full creation 
To its high adjudication ! 

Night shall flee, and fear infernal ; 
Earth before its Judge eternal 
Shall arise in light supernal — 

Love, the scroll of life unsealing — 
All divining, all revealing, 
Night and Hell no more concealing. 
41 



JUDGMENT HYMN. 43 

Spheres with joy will thrill and tremble, 
All the tribes of men assemble 
In the world-embracing temple — 

Paeans through the arches ringing — 
Suns like burning censers swinging, 
Holy airs and odors flinging — 

And like sounds of seas fraternal, 
Blent and borne by breezes vernal, 
Shall go up the chant eternal. 

When that day shall come in splendor, 
What can lips of mortal render 
Of the joy it shall engender ? 

Thou with cloudless splendor burning ! 

Unto Thee all life returning 

Yearns with deep and deeper yearning. 

Thou to chaos hast descended — 
Suffered — conquered — and ascended 
With relumined worlds attended. 



JUDGMENT HYMN. 45 

Thou hast judged without remission : 
Sin inherited perdition : 
Wisdom followed with contrition. 

All have shared the high salvation — 
And as one the vast creation 
Chants in choral exultation, 



t THE PHALANSTERY. 

I see before me now that stately mansion 
In the bright air, above the woods uprise, 

And there below that quiet lake's expansion 
Mirrors the shore and trees and azure skies. 

Far in the east the glowing groves of peaches 
Wave in the splendor of the pulsing air ; 

The Brisbane hill, the long and level reaches, 

The Highland peaks and dim blue sea are there. 

Westward I see the wheat and crimson clover, 
Zoning the okro blooms and gleaming maize, 

The Height of Ivenvor, and boundless over 
Pours the imperial sun's resplendent blaze. 

Up from the glow of countless sunny acres, 
Out from seristery and court and hall, 

I hear the songs of cheerful-hearted workers 
With the inconstant breezes swell and fall. 

47 



THE PHALANSTERY. 49 

There in the silvery forest's broken vistas, 
'Mid the broad garden's leafy blooming lines, 

I see my brothers and my peerless sisters : 
Their starlike glory o'er the landscape shines. 

Sweet Inez ! oh, those tender, artless graces 

Wake my hushed heart to strange forgotten pain ; 

Time only veils but nevermore effaces, — 
The dear, fair dream forever must remain. 

Nor ruthless Fate's unchanging, stern decision, 
Nor the proud glory that I seek and win, 

Shrives my lorn heart of that regretful vision 
Of that celestial life that might have been. 

noble Junia, has the noon's full splendor 
Brought the fair promise of thy rosy morn ? 

Has thy great soul one tribute yet to render 
To that poor fate whereunto thou art born ? 

1 know by that sweet voice and beauteous bearing, 
By the calm greatness of thy deep blue eyes, 

Still in its low estate thy soul is wearing 

The undimmed birthright of thy native skies. 



THE PHALANSTERY. 5 I 

I half forget the years and their wise sadness, 
Hearing the chimes of romping Ida's voice ; 

Sure, Heaven comes down to such immortal glad- 
ness 
And angels with sweet envyings rejoice. 

How like a vision's gorgeous shadowy coming 
The white-browed Otta rises on my sight ; 

How darkly, brightly, those great orbs are roam- 
ing ! 
Oh that those eyes were boundless as the night ! 

How fair upon her forehead's pearly whiteness 
Winds the dim shadow of her dusky hair ! 

It darkens not her cheek's translucent brightness, 
The crimson waves of life are flashing there. 

And one has gone. The blue-eyed grasses cover 
Her sweet, green pillow in the oaken glade. 

The deep still summer-glow around and over 
Shines like the azure gaze of Elferaide. 

How eager in the lists of young ambition 
Haroder strives there by Ottilia's side ! 



THE PHALANSTERY. 53 

She has fulfilled the vestal's saintly mission 
And wears the star and crescent of a bride. 

These are my brothers. I have found that union 
Only with them, where soul may talk with soul : 

A segment only of its full communion, 

Where shall the longing spirit seek the whole ? 

The sun from out the cloudless heights of azure 
Low in the heaven holds his conquering way, 

O'er the broad West outrolls the vast emblazure — 
The earth is purpled 'neath the flaming day. 

There joyous crews upon the lake are rowing, 
And many a group along its margin strolls, 

The lonely cornet down the vale is blowing, 
The vying athletes hurl their ponderous bowls. 

Along the lawn, among the locust blossoms, 

Gay laughing childhood sports and cheerful 
age ; 

The childly games yet warm the aged bosoms ; 
Their hearts are younger as their souls are sage. 



THE PHALANSTERY. 55 

The night has come. The lighted lamps are gloat- 
ing 

O'er the soft splendor of those lofty halls ; 
The bugle's swell upon the nightwind floating 

The joyous household to the dance recalls. 

The countless train comes thro' the columned 
portals, 
Bright as the radiant hosts that throng the 
skies ; 
In snowy light move by the young immortals, 
The mists of sorrow dim my raptured eyes. 

There 'neath the vasty dome's refulgent ceiling 
Stands like a sea of light the countless tide ; 

It sways beneath the music's lofty pealing ; 
The airy undulations surge and glide. 

How noble is this brotherhood, how glorious ! 

Worthy yon starry heavens that o'er it shine, 
Like ye, O sweet eternal stars, harmonious ; 

Ordered like ye in symmetry divine J 



THE PHALANSTERY. 57 

How thro' the long and weary night of ages 
Has earth-born, erring, heaven-aspiring man 

Lifted his darkened eyes to those bright pages, 
Vainly their golden mysteries to scan. 

The bells begin their chimes. The Pleiad sisters 
Have sunk beyond the mountain's western 
height ; 

The winds sigh in the forest's darkened vistas ; 
The sea's low moan uprolls upon the night. 



A SUMMER DREAM. 

When the blazing sun of August 

Smote the mountain aud the plain, 
Smote them till each living creature 

Writhed and sunk in fiery pain, 
I betook me to my castle 

In the purple hills of Spain. 
There, in restful, dreamy shadows, 

By the fountains' murmurous play, 
Sought I refuge from the burning 

Vengeance of the god of day. 
And with gentle necromancies, 

With a subtler, purer fire, 
Strove I to dispel the poison 

Of this withering, wasting ire, — 
Strove to quell the haunting phantoms 

That disturb the life divine. 

" Bring," I cried, " the mystic flower, 
Nature's secret sign and power." 
59 



A SUMMER DREAM. 

And they brought me dreamy pansies 

Drenched in dews of amber wine ; 
Blue-leaved asters from the mountains, 

Flecked with shining stars of gold ; 

Snow-bells from the sunless wold ; 
Red-lipped memories reared and tended 

In still lanes by sun and stars ; 
Dark auroras, dreamy, splendid, 

Thrid with fiery trails and bars — 
These and more, till all the room 
Glowed with rarest bud and bloom. 

Up from stately silver vases 

Pearl-white lilies lofty rose, 
And the amaranth's rich graces 

Touched and lit their proud repose, 
While with airy curl and hurtle 

Down the sculptured silver bases, 
Fell and swung the dusky myrtle, 

Through which peered the fairy faces 

Of the ruby mignon rose. 

O'er the glowing, quaint mosaic 
Of the quaintly pictured floor, 



A SUMMER DREAM. 63 

Writ with symbols algebraic, 

Starry signs of mystic lore, 
Lay in heaps the lucent laurel, 

Ivy, palm and dismal yew, 

Fragrant balm and thyme and rue, 
True love, fickle roving lorel, 
Lime and humble luckless sorrel 

Tearful with the night-born dew ; 
Lote and hallowed passiflora, 

Circe, fern, and asphodel, 
Regal crocus and zenora, 
Sweet madonna and rhodora, 
Almond, musk and moschatel — 
Myriads 1 could number well, 
Myriads that I could not tell. 

And their radiant, pure emblazure 
Of each hue from red to azure, 
With the rich and rare perfume, 
Rose upon the crystal air, 
Rose and floated till the room, 
Filled with this aromal mist, 
With this fine ethereal fire 



A SUMMER DREAM. 6$ 

Born of water, wine and bloom, 
Pulsed and burned like amethyst. 

Through these glowing, purple seas, 
Sailed resplendent scarabees ; 
From their glimmering rapid wings 
Rolled the air in flaming rings ; 

And a carol quick and clear, 
Rising from the fiery springs 

Of the kindling atmosphere, 
Flowed with circling, certain motion, 

Throwing wide the trancing rings 

Through the tremulous swaying room, 
Till the throbbing, charmed ocean 

Waved and shook, and every bloom 
Breathed and quivered with emotion. 

Then within the gorgeous splendor, 

As in sunset skies remote, 
Rose a light, mysterious, tender, 

Like the dreamy beaming lote. 
Near it glowed, more near and certain, 

Fainter fell each rippling note ; 



A SUMMER DREAM. 6? 

Fainter, dimmer seemed the curtain 
Of the misty fire to float. 

Touched by the quick lightning's finger 
Suddenly it flashed and fell. 

Dim-seen forms I scarce could tell, 

With the song's low close and swell, 
Seemed to sway and glide and linger, 
Seemed to float and soar and sail — 
Dim and distant recognitions 
Of celestial apparitions 
Shining through the air's blue veil. 

Ah, that I could once regain 
Something of that vanished strain — 
That weird soul-song and refrain ; 

Those high thoughts and inspirations ; 

Those transcendent revelations ! — 
Only echoes now remain ! 

" In the many is but one : 
One is all, all is one : 



A SUMMER DREAM. 69 

Soul and life, stone and star, 
High and low, near and far : 

One, the seer, seen, unseen, 
One what will be, is, hath been. 

Knowing this we are freed 

From the thrall of thought and deed ; 

In this wisdom rise above 
Pleasure, pain, hate and love, 

Hope and fear, virtue, crime, 
Life and death, self and time ; 

Through the zone of stars we range, 
Through the shadowy realms of change, 

Past the bounds of name and dream 
Into one, the All-Supreme." 

Then the tender, roseate shimmer 
Paled with tremulous glow and glimmer, 
And the air grew heavier, dimmer, 



A SUMMER DREAM. 7 1 

Like a palid, wan eclipse, 
Like the wane of dying lips. 

Clouds arose and hovered, wandered, 

Swelled and lowered, flashed and sundered. 

Lo ! the muffled aether thundered, 
And there came a voice from far 

Like the war-shout and evangel 

Of some proud Promethean angel 

Urging on the faltering war. 

And again the course of day 
Held its hot and dusty way. 



THE SHOON. 

Last midnight in the darkness 
I woke from visions sweet, 

And heard upon my threshold 
The tramp of thronging feet. 

There came in long procession 
All shoon I ever wore — 

The stalwart boot of manhood 
The tiny shoe of yore. 

Downtrodden, torn, neglected, 
Laden with dust and grime, 

Each bore, spite age and wrinkle, 
The spirit of its prime. 

I could not smile to see them, 
All stiff and gaunt and hoar, 

In pantomime enacting 

The days that are no more. 

73 



THE SHOON. /5 

Some on the floor went softly 

With timid steps and small, 
Some with an antic canter 

That shook the steadfast wall. 

And some with restless longing 

Turned to the stars above, 
And some were still pursuing 

The hopes, the dreams of love. 

And near them, gayly falling, 

Like airy flakes of snow, 
Were silken shoon, — to hear them 

Was rapture long ago. 

And some — ah ! there were many — 

Went pacing to and fro ; — 
Their lonely shadows darkened 

O'er years of doubt and woe. 

A few — I scarcely knew them 

They were not shoon of yore— 
With footsteps small and timid 
They tottered o'er the floor. 



the shoon. yy 

All stopped where hung my bootjack 

And parleyed low and long, 
The ancient jack descended 

And mingled 'mong the throng. 

Then went in long procession 

All shoon I ever wore 
Leading the ancient bootjack 

From out the lonely door. 

And shadows dark and silent 

Are closing o'er the light 
That lingers round their pathway 

Far in the depths of night. 



SHADOWS OF ROMANCE. 

When the sweet air of youth 

Is beautiful with stars, 
And the blue dome is bright 

With the moon's golden bars ; 

And earth gleams fair and strange 
'Neath the celestial fire, 

And wondrous murmurs float 
Down from the heavenly lyre ; 

And o'er the joyous earth 
Visions of beauty dance, 

Through endless vistas chase 
The shadows of romance — 

Oh let the lover sun 
Awhile his coming stay, 

To kiss with glowing lips 
This glorious dream away ! 
79 



SHADOWS OF ROMANCE. 

For though his kiss shall bring 
Glory and strength and light, 

Oh let him leave awhile 
This beautiful delight ! 



UNCREATED LIGHT. 

All the holiest light 
Of the seraph eyes of night, 
All imperial splendors of the sun, 

Of the eve and morn, 

Leave my spirit lorn : 

All the thoughts that lie 

In the awful sky 

Leave me in unrest, 

Leave me all unblest. 
With all earth and heaven's wealth I am undone 
If I lose thy blessing eyes 
In whose cloudless skies, 
Pure the snowy fountains rise 
Of th' eternal, uncreated light. 

Bid me to their light ! 

For all else is night. 



33 



ALONE. 

A glory leaves the sun ; 

A grace has left the day ; 
The stars return, but not the light 

That flushed their azure way. 

For my heart's queen has passed 

Into the deepening west ; 
My heart is wild with doubt, and naught 

Answers its lonely quest. 

The soaring eagles come 

Out from the glowing sky ; 
Their all beholding voyage gives 

No tidings nor reply. 

The fleet winds kiss her lips 

And fly from out the west ; 
She breathes on them, but they no sign 

Yield to my soul's unrest. 

85 



ALONE. 87 

On yonder golden stars 

Her royal eyes now turn ; 
They gaze deep in her soul — how mute, 

And cold, and calm they burn ! 

O Seraphim that bend 

Your flight from thrones above, 
Humbly on mortal thoughts to tend 

With ministries of love, 

Bear to my soul's pure shrine, 

Under the western star, 
The worship of my soul, the vows 

I breathe, alone, afar. 

Bear to its only home 

This heart that sinks in pain ! 
Oh bring me thence one thought, one breath, 

To bid me live again. 

Vain veil of air ! My eyes 

Can almost pierce the screen — 

How near my soul can come — alas ! 
Still rolls the night between. 



^ENONE. 

Like a grand Asian queen upon her throne, 

All glorious and opulent and bright, 
I saw the goddess-bosomed queen ^Enone 

Pavilioned in the shadowy tent of night. 
I saw the black deep torrents of her hair 

Sweep like a flood adown her pearly zone ; 
Her snow-white bust that rose all wondrous fair, 
A heavenly temple reared to holiest prayer, 

Fairer than all that mortals ere have known : 
Her cheeks that beautiful as Hesper shone ; 

Lips like the lucent bows in summer skies, 

As precious as the gates of Paradise : 
And her fair brow that beamed upon my sight 

Like the horizon, glorious, grave, divine, 
A royal palace nobly planned and wrought 
For the high pleasure of Imperial Thought. 

I looked within the mist-like lids of light, 

And lashes that like clustered stars did shine, 

89 



u&NONE. 91 

I saw the heavenly grandeur of her eyes — 
And all as one my soul's glad hosts did rise, 

Hasting their long-sought, heaven-crowned queen 

to greet, 
Laying their eternal homage at her feet. 



THE SACRAMENT OF LOVE. 

Why all this vast array, 

So beautiful and bright ; 
The gorgeous teeming day, 

The solemn domed night ! 
Why doth fair Nature come 

With all her countless throng, 
'Neath heaven's temple dome, 

Chanting her wond'rous song ? 

The glorious sun, 

And all the shining zone 
That overspans night's firmament, 

Are lit for this intent, 
And this alone : 

Are all for Love's high sacrament. 

From sun and starry urn 
That like firm censers burn, 
93 



THE SACRAMENT OF LOVE. 95 

The incense clouds that pour, 
Rainbow laden, 
Breathing Aidenn, 
Down to earth's floor, — 
All come for this intent, 
To grace Love's sacrament. 

All Nature's voices — every tone — 

Hymn this, and this alone ! 
All chorals of the land, 

The fountains, streams, the sea, 
The shells upon the strand, 

In this one song agree ; 
For this the eves and morns, 

In glory come and go, 
And ever their wild horns 

The air's gay heralds blow ; 
Clouds on their errands flee 

With pitying shade and showers ; 
And plant and soaring tree 

Wave to the cheering skies 
Their rapturous replies ; 

And all the hosts of flowers, 



THE SACRAMENT OF LOVE. 97 

Blessing with holy eyes 
The happy nuptial hours, 

Answer to the stars above 

With benisons of love ; 
All for this high intent — 
To celebrate Love's Sacrament. 



SONG OF KILCARE COTTAGE. 

J T is a lodge in the mountains of Warwick, 
And like hermits of eld we live there ; 

The world rushes by 

But we heed not its cry, 
At our lodge on the hills of Kilcare. 

By the tent of the green, oaken woodlands, 
The dream of the days glideth fair ; 

Sailing clouds are our books, 

And our music the brooks 
That leap down the rocks of Kilcare. 

Sweet scenes ! What Delectable Mountains 

With these heights and these lakes can compare ? 
How the echoes out-ring 
Every viva we sing 
To the beautiful hills of Kilcare ! 
99 



SONG OF KILCARE COTTAGE. IOI 

The stars, how they climb to our eyrie ! 
Like pilgrims they come, gay and fair, 

And they fill all the nights 

With their lofty delights, 
On the beautiful hills of Kilcare. 

They pass, and go down in the valley — 
We stay not their steps with our prayer, 

For they carry dull woe 
To the shadows below, 

From the beautiful hills of Kilcare. 

The winds rustle over the woodlands, 
Like coursers their feet beat the air, 

Their breath, filled with balms, 

Dispels the dull calms 
From the beautiful hills of Kilcare. 

They pass, like life's visions — nor seek we 
The charm once dissolved to repair, 
But we trill a gay rhyme 
For the odors of thyme 
They leave on the hills of Kilcare. 



SONG OF -KILCARE COTTAGE. ] 

The sun, at the earliest dawning, 
Comes forth from his palace of air, 

And throws his first kiss 

To the beauty and bliss 
He finds on the hills of Kilcare. 

All day, at the door of his palace, 
He stands, gazing down to his fair ; 

His loving looks say : 

Oh forever to stay 
On the beautiful hills of Kilcare ! 

At evening, in gold and in purple, 
He goes — and we ask him not where, 
For true love may part, 
And still glow in the heart, 
On the beautiful hills of Kilcare. 

'T is a lodge by the woodlands of Warwick, 
And like hermits of eld we live there ; 
The world rushes by 
But we heed not its cry, 
At our lodge on the hills of Kilcare. 



SUNBEAM AND ROSE. 

A sunbeam, flying from the eve, 
Paused by a rose, its beauty seeing, 

And sighed : How sweet therein to live, 
Did other beams not fill its being ! 

In grief he spread his wings of light 
And onward passed, to wander ever ; 

But sweet throughout his endless flight 
The rose's fragrance breathes for ever. 



105 



WHEN DO THE FLOWERS DIE? 

When do the flowers die ? 
Not when the diadems 
Crowning the tender stems 

Grow sere and dry ; 
Not when the ripened reeds 
Fall with the golden seeds, 

And mouldering lie. 

When do the flowers die ? 
Not when the waking germs 
Fall to the demon worms ; 

Nor when the eyes 
That the sweet buds enfold 
Drop in the darksome mould, 

No more to rise. 

But the bright flowers expire, 
When from their gentle souls 
Love's fragrant breath outrolls 

Like balmy fire ; 
When their pure passionate sighs 
In clouds of incense rise 
Blessing all earth and skies, 

Then they expire. 
107 



FIRST OF THE YELLOW LEAVES. 

Ere frosts and storms have come, 
The warm South wind that breathed upon thy 

birth, 
First of the yellow leaves ! hath borne thee home 

Upon the quickening earth. 

While yet the skies are warm, 
And warm and bright the clouds in summer's sky, 
Ere thy green resting-place hath lost a charm, 

Thou goest mid flowers to lie. 

So they who ere life's sky 
With coming woes and cares is overcast 
Drop gently from the ranks which bye-and-bye 

Shall fall with many a blast. 



TOQ 



THE BRAVE OLD BANNER. 

Huzza ! the brave old Banner 
Moves on its conquering way ! 

Its foes go down like shadows 
Before the blaze of day ! 

Oh mark its glorious coming 
Above the stormy fight ! 

The Bow of Heaven's Blessing : 
The stars of Truth and Right ! 

What shouts and tears of gladness, 
When the blest vision comes ! 

How thrill the brave to see it 
Unfurl above their homes ! 

Sun of all joy to freemen ! 

Bright glory of the sky ! 
Pledge to the slave and exile, 

Of hopes that shall not die ! 



THE BRAVE OLD BANNER. 113 

Speed on thy course triumphant ! 

The thrones of despots fall, 
Thy lightnings rive the shackles, 

And men are brothers all. 

Wave in thy glorious splendor ! 

O'er earth thou e'er shalt roll, 
While a star illumes the heavens, 

And a noble hope the soul ! 



LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD. 
(the bartholdi statue.) 

When darkness girds the land 

And grasps the sea, 
I lift my iron hand 

To set them free. 

I smite the front of Night, 

Demon of Death, 
I lift the living light 

To show the Path. 

O blinded men, behold 

The guiding ray ! 
See and be ever bold ! 

Give reason sway ! 
115 



LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD." W] 

Cast off the slavish chain 

From hand and thought, 
Be lords of your domain, 

Unbound, unbought. 

Heed not the curse or ban, 

Doubt not, but know 
That Heaven's utmost span 

And earth below 

Were based and built in Light 

And Liberty, 
And ever Light makes Right 

And Right makes Free. 



IN THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. 

Has the eternal sorrow come at last ? 

Has the long twilight deepened into night ? 
Is the sweet joy of day forever past ? 

Has the great sun forever quenched his light ? 

Where is the faithful wakener of the day ? 

Is his voice sealed in an eternal sleep ? 
Where does the herald star of morn delay ? 

Quenched are his beams forever in the deep ? 

Can the great sun of hope no more appear ? 

Is there no star to light these rayless hours ? 
Is there no spring in the eternal year, 

To lull the sad heart's pain with wind and flowers ? 

O ruthless fate ! to mine the answering eyes, 
The light of life's high noon, have never shone, 

Nor love's sweet breath has lapped in paradise 
This weary heart, here exiled and alone. 
119 



IN THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. 121 

Shall it be never mine to wear the crown, 
To taste the godlike joy of victories won ? 

But to the caverns of the dead go down 
While the proud venture is but just begun : 

Like ye, fond flowers, that in your sunny path 
Fall ere ye reach the autumn's golden prize ; 

Like ye, O gems, that in the gloom of death, 
Waste ere ye once have seen the glorious skies ; 

Like ye, O winds and clouds, that blow 
To far-off lighter regions of the day ; 

Like ye, glad waves, that to the ocean flow 
And ever waste and perish by the way ? 

For her vast harvest lavish nature sows 
Alike all regions of her wide domain ; 

Some in the meadow fair and lordly grow 
Some in the desert strive and pine in vain. 

The golden issue of her mighty plan 
No niggard thrifts imperil or impair ; 

Lavish with world and plant and beast and man, 
Her boundless victories her only care. 



IN THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. 1 23 

Down the still lapses of this restful gloom 
Lit by your closing eyes, O hapless flowers ! 

'Mid idle airs yet warm with your perfume, 
Calmly I near death's shadowy silent bowers. 



SIVA, DESTROYER. 

Whose voice shall say him nay ? 
Whose arm shall bar his way ? 
Lord of unbounded sway ! — 
Siva, Destroyer. 

Proud kings, whose lightest breath 
To men is life or death, 
Heeds he your ruth or wrath ? — 
Siva, Destroyer. 

Mother with bleeding breast 
Bowed o'er thy birdling's nest, 
Shall thy last woe arrest 
Siva, Destroyer? 

Maiden with eyes of love 
Fixed on the heaven above, 
Hast thou a prayer to move 
Siva, Destroyer? 

125 



SIVA, DESTROYER. 1 27 

Youth of the lion heart, 
Brave for life's noblest art, 
Shall fame's fair glory thwart 
Siva, Destroyer ? 

Earth in thy sweet array, 
Bride of celestial day, 
Hast thou one bloom to stay 
Siva, Destroyer ? 

Stars on the dome of night, 
Climbing to your far height 
Do ye escape his might ? — 
Siva, Destroyer. 

What voice shall say him nay, 
What arm shall bar his way, 
Lord of unbounded sway ! — 
Siva, Destroyer. 



TRIBUTES. 



tributes to tbe fl&emor^ of 
George perrs. 



His summons came when in his passing prime 
He turned his face to view the setting sun, 
The garnering of his harvest scarce begun 

While yet far heard the reapers' echoing chime ; 

But still with manly step he mated Time, 

Sought for the good the hurrying moments spun, 
Scattered abroad again the treasures won, 

And rounded life to large eternal rhyme. 

Ah ! we whose hearts rebuke the empty place, 
Who felt his worth, and more, who loved him so — 
We yet must speed his flight at morning call : 
For mighty souls who throng unbounded space 
And whisper mighty thoughts to us below, 
Do cry him Welcome : he was kin to all. 

Kate Elizabeth Clark. 



131 



Siva, Destroyer ! Thus he wrote 

Addressing Death, in Death's embrace, - 

The while not one complaining note 
Made discord in his life of grace : 

A life so lifted, so ideal, 

It raised and glorified the real. 

His spirit's wing now drops the stress 
Of knightly warfare, waged anew 

With each day's birth, 'gainst fruitlessness 
Of art-work to its art untrue : 

We singers singing at the gate, 

Shall long such warrior-friend await. 

Nor we alone are losers ; they 

Who profited unconsciously 
By virtue of his standard's sway 

In social ethics, these shall be 
i33 



TRIBUTES. 135 

Made mourners too, for one to fill 
His place of power with equal will. 

Whoso but knew him slightly, knew 
But little of his charm unique ; 

His playful irony, his true 

And gentle manhood ; some high peak 

Snow-mantled, radiant to the rim 

With rosy light, might figure him. 

Yet mountain, pine, or anything 
Less sentient than the human soul 

In its divineness fails to bring 

This man before us. . . . Only dole 

With us remains. Siva, with thee 

He dies to bloom eternally ! 

Mary Barker Dodge. 



A seal upon a heart was set 

Of ample purity and truth ; 
Its break had made the world forget 

That aught on earth remained of ruth. 

A kindlier heart than that, O Friend, 
Ne'er burned within a poet's breast. 
Though now that heart is stilled in rest, 

'T is not the end, 't is not the end ! 

To many free to wander far, 

His generous lamp had lent its ray, 

To be to happier paths a star ; 
But his the sterner, darker way. 

The ore his labor delved from earth 
He gave to others far from care, 
To wear as jewels in their hair ; 

He walked aside in unknown worth. 
i37 



TRIBUTES. 139 

His daily task a spirit bound 

That would have spread its glorious wing 
And soared in flights from common ground 

To sing in realms where poets sing. 

But daily to dull labor bent 

He gave his life. Then passed to where 
A spirit, proud to be content, 

May wear the crown that angels wear. 

Louise Morgan Sill. 



Ye winter winds, that sigh and moan 

O'er desecrated forest aisles ! 

O wild lamenters of the smiles 
That for too brief a season shone ! 

Ye rude, harsh-throated chanters ! share 
With us the burden of a grief 
That in your terror seeks relief — 

On your grim wings our sorrow bear ! 

Yea, 'midst your clarion-blatant wails, 

Echoes of frigid Arctic shrieks, 

Lifted where the aurora wreaks 
Its ghostly gleams on frozen sails ! 

Yea, 'midst the cruel tones of woe, 

Which surge across your harps' loud strings, 
Your harps, whereto the salt rime clings 

Dashed o'er them from some wave-tossed floe ! 
141 



TRIBUTES. 143 

Yea, 'midst the fury of a flight 

That desolates, at one sharp sweep, 
The lingering lovely hues asleep 

On clouds about the gate of night ! 

Yea, carry with you from our hearts 
A pittance of their anguished pain ! 
A whisper through the skyey main, 

Where the electric glory darts ! 

Ah, let us in your tumult find 

A note of solace, which shall swell 
Triumphant o'er the muffled knell 

Whose snare about our souls is twined ! 

Yea, of your very rage we ask 

Strength to outbreast the bitter wave : 
Death to this Spirit new Life gave ; • 

And Darkness is but Morning's mask ! 

William Struthers. 



Santa Cruz, Cal., Feb. 16, '89. 

Ever Dear Home Journal. — At the time that I 
saw the news of Mr. Perry's death in your columns 
I was unable to tell you of my sorrow, as I was 
then temporarily crippled in my right hand. 

Even at this later date, the feeling of painful 
shock with which I saw those ominous black lines 
darkening your pages and read the sad short story 
of his sudden going out for ever from the familiar 
place that had so long known him, is still fresh with 
me. The fact that I am so far away does n't matter 
in this respect ; for to think of No. 3 Park Place, 
and that familiar nook inside of it, sacred to you, 
is impossible without at once thinking too of George 
Perry, and remembering that I can never again 
mount the well-known stairs and make my way to 
a certain corner and find, as I have always found 
before, seated at his desk, your good genius, of the 
145 



TRIBUTES. 147 

calm and benignant presence, ever ready to take 
into the shelter of his generous wing the shamefaced 
and diffident author new to the ways of editors ; 
and to give abundant encouragement if there should 
be the least spark of poetic promise to be blown 
into a flame — it might be but a very little flame 
perhaps, but he never failed to lend it his fostering 
breath. How many have reason to bless his good 
offices in this respect, we shall never know ; nor 
shall we ever know how many there are who sorely 
miss them and will always carry the memory of his 
thoughtful kindness and polished graciousness in 
their hearts. 

But of them all, was there ever one, here and 
there, who even partially understood how delicate 
and rare was the spirit that bent itself to the daily 
bondage of office work ? His physical stature and 
presence well betokened the superiority of the inner 
man. 

This I sit here and ponder over, as I read the 
selections from his poems, which you have fitly 
given the most prominent place in your columns of 
February the sixth. Every one of the many who 



TRIBUTES. 149 

knew and loved George Perry will be glad that you 
have done this, and I must be of the foremost 
among those who thank you for this last sad 
pleasure in connection with our memories of him ; 
for the relationship between us of editor and con- 
tributor, though infrequent and irregular — ripening 
slowly into an unbroken friendship — began about 
the time that N. P. Willis left that vacant chair in 
the Home Journal office ; some of my very first 
bread-and-butter-y efforts having been submitted to 
Mr. Perry. What a revelation those poems will be 
to many who thought they knew him ! now that he, 
to use his own words, is 

4 ' freed 

From thrall of thought and deed ; " 
and has gone 

" Past the bounds of name and dream 

Into one, the All-Supreme ! " 

" Howard Glyndon." 
(Mrs. Laura R. Searing.) 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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